


Take Care

by FunAndWhimsy



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Sexual Tension, Skincare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:56:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24364675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunAndWhimsy/pseuds/FunAndWhimsy
Summary: Lorenz enjoys his routines, and Claude enjoys Lorenz, and sometimes those two things don't go together as well as they would seem. Neither of them seem to mind very much.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 78





	Take Care

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Froggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froggie/gifts).



> [frog](https://twitter.com/oversized_frog) tweeted about Lorenz doing an extensive skincare routine and I did this, a _completely_ reasonable reaction to an idle thought about skincare.

Lorenz is often described as particular, if the person doing the describing happens to be fond of him, and fussy if they're not, though he likes to think he's done well relaxing his admittedly rigid standards as the years have passed. He no longer ruthlessly analyzes people upon first impression (his skill in a certain level of reading people is valuable, of course, but better put to use in matters other than who deserves his time), or insists upon a frankly unattainable level of quality, aesthetics, or cleanliness in his surroundings, meals, or possessions, or believes that his way of doing things is the only correct one and anyone who deviates is in need of assistance or a dressing-down. Lorenz is happier for it, his life is richer for it, and he hasn't once regretted what at first felt undeniably like lowering himself, but as a side effect he is significantly fussier about the things he's decided to allow himself to maintain control over.

Claude is, as always when they are in the same room and there is no one else to catch his attention, watching Lorenz closely, as if there's something interesting or important to the way Lorenz pulls jars and bottles and small decorative containers from the drawers of his vanity and arranges them tidily on the surface. Claude could stand to learn more about caring for his skin, though he certainly doesn't _need_ it, or about organization and having everything in its proper place, but Lorenz has a feeling that's not what he's after. 

"Do you mind?" Lorenz asks, as he twists his hair into a quick, neat braid to keep it out of his face.

"Nope," Claude says, and leans back in his plush armchair, swinging his legs up over the arm like there isn't a perfectly good chaise lounge five feet away. "Do you?"

"I suppose if you don't have anything better to do," Lorenz says, quite good at this point at pretending he doesn't enjoy being the center of Claude's attention, and does his best to turn his attention away from his husband and towards his nightly routine. He lifts the small basin of water with one hand and produces a small flame with the other to heat it to a temperature as close to that of his own skin as he can get, occasionally dipping his thumb in to test until he's satisfied. He waits for Claude to tease him about using magic when there's a fire going in the fireplace, but for the time being Claude seems to be behaving himself.

Lorenz takes a fine wool cloth from the top drawer and soaks it in the basin, wrings it out, dips it again and wrings it out once more, aiming for a precise level of dampness that will hydrate his skin without dripping all over the place. He keeps a small sachet of rose petals in the drawer with his face cloths and there is very little more relaxing than finally draping the warm, wet cloth over his face and breathing in the subtle scent. Some days it feels as if he holds all his tension in the muscles of his head and neck, and the only thing that can melt it away is blocking out the world with the soothing heat. Lorenz takes as deep a breath as he can manage through the cloth, and another, letting the humidity into his lungs, the moisture into his skin, the peace of having this time to care for himself into his very soul. Then he removes the cloth, wrings it out once more, and sets it aside to be washed. 

While his face is still damp he takes the first bottle and shakes several drops of the watery substance into his palm, rubs his hands together, and pats it over his face gently. His facial skin is far too sensitive for the soaps he uses in his bath, and this particular blend of extracts from fine teas and flowers helps to remove the last, stubborn bits of the day's sweat and grime before he applies his treatments. It has a sharp, herbal smell that complements the rose nicely, and Lorenz applies it slowly, giving himself a small massage as he does so. He moves his fingers in slow, small circles, with only light pressure to avoid moving his skin around too much and encouraging wrinkles, patting the astringent in and the cares of the day out. Lorenz finishes by taking a small cotton square and patting it over his face to remove the excess, examining it once he's finished and smiling, satisfied at the minute amount of fine dust he's removed. A glance in the mirror shows his canvas is properly prepared for the next steps, his skin just faintly pink from the treatment so far, faintly glowing.

Lorenz pulls the next three bottles, small, amber ones with droppers in the lids, towards him, and a small dish made from a seashell, and takes a moment to think. He likes to carefully modify his routine from one day to the next, to ensure he is focusing on the issues he most wishes to address and not wasting excess energy - or expensive product - on areas where he needs no assistance. His skin is looking quite good today, free of minor discoloration, of irritated spots, and no new fine lines have revealed themselves, so he sets about mixing himself a simple maintenance blend, equal parts of extracts meant to brighten, to soothe, and to plump.

"That looks dangerously like when I start experimenting with a new potion," Claude says, and Lorenz hums.

"I suppose it would," he says. "You get your ingredients from this same apothecary, that's how I found her. I suppose I should thank you, she's doing some fantastically creative things without the war to support sales of poisons and vulneraries."

"Then all that striving for peace was worth it," Claude says, such a smile in his voice Lorenz can't help but look over his shoulder to see it on his face, bright and beautiful and only a little sarcastic. He is beautiful even if he refuses to sit properly on the furniture, and Lorenz returns that lovely smile with one of his own before he follows the line of Claude's hand to see him cupping himself through his pants, massaging the bulge there.

"Oh, honestly," Lorenz says, and Clause laughs.

"What? You know I love a beautiful man touching himself."

Lorenz huffs and turns back to his routine, his cheeks a little pinker. Claude's open appreciation shouldn't really be at odds with the care Lorenz takes with his appearance, but he often finds himself reacting like a blushing schoolboy and not a married man who _wants_ his husband to admire him so eagerly. He clears his throat and pushes the image of Claude's impressive bulge and heated smile to the back of his mind, though he can never rid himself of them entirely. Lorenz dips his fingers into his mixture and repeats the motions he used with the astringent, a gentle, patting massage, though it feels somewhat different knowing Claude is sitting there aroused by this basic caretaking. He can see the appeal, he supposes, of his soft, elegant fingers sweeping across the delicate skin of his face, the aesthetics of his extracts shining on his skin, the understanding that the purpose of this work is to keep Lorenz beautiful and the person he most wants appreciating that beauty is Claude. If Lorenz sighs as he relaxes, rather than simply enjoying it quietly as he usually does, it is of course because he knows his husband's fondness for his exhalations and not because he himself is perhaps enjoying his own touch more than usual.

The next bottle is the one Lorenz would have guessed Claude wouldn't be able to be quiet about, if he had thought to guess, but there are no comments when Lorenz shakes the thin moisturizer into his palm. It's new, quite a bit thinner and more translucent than other creams he's tried, and this is not the first time Lorenz has noted its resemblance to the facial treatments his husband so generously provides him with on a regular basis but it is the first time that doesn't entirely feel like a joke. Lorenz applies it rather more thickly than usual, with significantly less care, so there is a thick smear of it on one cheek as he begins to rub it in fully. He isn't certain if Claude's breath is coming a little faster, a little louder, or if he simply wasn't paying attention before, but it isn't especially important. He likes getting to Claude, however he manages to do it. 

Affecting Claude is always nice, but the sanity Lorenz maintains with his nightly routine is more important, and he moves to rub the lotion in with long, smooth strokes before it can absorb unevenly. The softness of his hands is a pleasure Lorenz used to deny himself, but he has been to war, he has held weapons and done horrible things with them, he has held tools and helped rebuild, and he has grown past the point of caring whether people who have done far less look at his hands and think him as soft as his skin. Tonight he is even more indulgent than usual, senses heightened by Claude's interest, and as he sweeps his palms over his cheeks he truly savors the simple delight of skin against skin and the luxury of time to care for himself. There's a richness to the layers of product sitting on his skin, slowly absorbing, that slicks the motion of his hands in a way he's never really noticed but in the moment finds quite satisfying.

Once Lorenz is satisfied with the even application of his lotion, he moves on to the penultimate step, a thicker, heavier lotion he only applies at night because it takes so long to sink in. There are no lewd comparisons to be made with this one, though now that his mind has shifted in that direction the way he dips his fingers into the jar is not so dissimilar to the way he slips his fingers inside another, smaller opening. Lorenz rolls his eyes at himself at the thought and resists another glance back at Claude, lest he be distracted and leave his routine unfinished. The cream goes on quickly, in a thin layer that almost sits atop his skin rather than sink in so he doesn't worry much about the evenness of application. This step, more than any other, seems to signal to Lorenz's brain that the day is over and the time to rest is upon him, and he can feel his eyelids begin to droop as he draws the cream down his neck to keep it as soft and youthful as his face.

"This is taking forever," Claude says, a little breathier than someone simply sitting poorly in a fine chair should be. Lorenz cannot hear the telltale sounds of skin on skin, of a hand moving rapidly inside loose sleep pants, but he can't make it out and it's almost more thrilling not to know. 

"You're quite welcome to entertain yourself elsewhere," Lorenz says, without any bite. If Claude is in the mood to devote his considerable attention to Lorenz tonight, he has his reasons, and there is little Lorenz or anything less than a force of nature could do to dissuade him. So Lorenz continues ignoring him - as much as anyone can, anyway, which means a fraction of his mind is devoted to awareness that Claude is watching but not the major fraction - and ensures all the lids of his bottles and jars are screwed on tight, the exteriors are wiped down with his facecloth so they don't get sticky, and lines them up to be put away before reaching for his final jar. 

The balm of pure Gloucester sheep's lanolin is hard to the touch but softens to Lorenz's touch much the way Claude does when he isn't in the mood to fight, though it doesn't sigh sweetly or say his name with sparkling eyes. Lorenz huffs a little laugh at his own nonsense and takes a scoop of lanolin to warm between his palms until it's nearly liquid. This is patted on much the same way as his astringent at the beginning, so as not to displace the even layers beneath, a final little massage for any tension that might be lingering at this point. It is somewhat like putting on armor, though Lorenz enjoys this version, and if he has his way the protective layer over his more delicate extracts and oils will be the only armor he must apply for a long, long time. He finishes by running his thumb over his lips to spread the lanolin there (and, ha, Claude does, finally, make an audible noise at that), wiping his hands clean on his discarded facecloth, and carefully placing all his jars and bottles back in their drawer.

"Finally," Claude says, as Lorenz rises with his usual grace and finally turns to look at him fully. He is sprawled in the chair like an overlarge house cat, and just as satisfied, a lazy smirk as his hand works in the loose silk pants he wears to sleep. "Now why don't you come join me over here, gorgeous."

"Claude," Lorenz says, and this time he says it with all the disdain he can muster - which is much less than it used to be, where Claude is concerned. "I couldn't possibly, I've just put my face on."

Claude sputters, and is still sputtering when Lorenz leans to press a kiss to his forehead, and still when Lorenz slides into bed between their soft sheets and douses his lantern. Lorenz smiles to himself in the dark, nearly as satisfied with his victory as he would be if he gave in to Claude, and falls asleep blissful and serene.


End file.
